


All That We Are

by manic_intent



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discussion of Abortion, Implied/Referenced Abortion, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, That reposted AU where Arthur is an omega, and John is the alpha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “What’re you doing?”Arthur looked up at the new kid. Skinny boy, usually scuffed or muddy or both. Dutch had saved him from copping a hanging for thieving a few weeks back, and the kid had hung around, doing chores but not saying much. Somedays Arthur even forgot the kid was around underfoot. Most of the kids Dutch picked up were angry souls, burning with the same kinda rage that Arthur harboured. Kids who Dutch could use.“Ain’t it obvious?” Arthur was packing tins of supplies into his saddlebags.John looked around and lowered his voice. “You leaving?”





	All That We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johanirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/gifts).

> **On Reposting**: Shenanigans happened, which might be against the rules to even specifically talk about, so here, if you're curious. https://manic-intent.tumblr.com/post/186677183999/fic-deleted-by-ao3  
\--  
For johanirae, who gave me a bunch of prompts: 1. RDR2 Omega!Arthur, 2. Postgame Amnesiac Arthur wanders into Beecher’s Hope begging for coin, or 3. Arthur starts buying John clothes during the game. tbh all of these could work combined into a single fic but it’d take too long, so 2/3 it is. 
> 
> This is, I think, the first time I’ve done multiple takes on a trope for a single fandom. Nowadays when I write, I try to encode something I want to say in each story, even if it’s a throwaway line as part of the dialogue. I don’t want to write a story that feels like you could’ve read it coming from anyone else. So for this third take on Omegaverse for RDR2 I think it’s time for some light arson just to switch things up some more.
> 
> tldr:  
me: would you be OK with me writing a story involving abortion with a pro-choice approach  
johanirae: sure!!!
> 
> Read the tags. Also, for the purposes of this fic, I’ve moved around the timeline a bit, so people don’t all join/meet the gang at the same time as they do in the game.
> 
> And finally, just a reminder that the abbreviation for alpha/beta/omega without the / is a racial epithet in Australia. Maybe avoid that.

“What’re you doing?”

Arthur looked up at the new kid. Skinny boy, usually scuffed or muddy or both. Dutch had saved him from copping a hanging for thieving a few weeks back, and the kid had hung around, doing chores but not saying much. Somedays Arthur even forgot the kid was around underfoot. Most of the kids Dutch picked up were angry souls, burning with the same kinda rage that Arthur harboured. Kids who Dutch could use.

“Ain’t it obvious?” Arthur was packing tins of supplies into his saddlebags.

John looked around and lowered his voice. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. For a day or so.”

“Oh.” John looked relieved. “Going hunting?”

Arthur frowned at John. He’d never had a good nose for this kinda thing, even for an omega. Wasn’t much for what Hosea called ‘empathy’ neither. Couldn’t rile up a crowd or sweet-talk people into doing what he wanted, like Dutch. Wasn’t any real judge of character like Mrs Grimshaw. Some kinda omega Arthur was. “No. Just off to take care of some personal business.”

“Could I come with you?”

Now that was a surprise. John had hung around Arthur sometimes, but Arthur hadn’t thought much about it. He was the closest person in camp to the kid’s age, so he’d thought maybe that had been it. Even then, John had never said anything whenever Arthur had wandered off to hunt or scout. “No.”

“Why?”

“The fuck’s wrong with you? You bored? Go talk to Pearson. Or maybe Hosea’ll teach you how to fish.”

John stuck out his lower lip. “I wanna go with you.”

“Fuck off. If I see you coming after me, I’m gonna shoot,” Arthur said sharply. That got John to back off a few steps. Thankfully, Hosea wandered over from Pearson’s table at that point. He’d always had a good nose for trouble.

“Arthur’s going away,” John told Hosea accusingly.

Hosea glanced at Arthur, nodded, and looked back at John. “Yeah, he is. Only for a bit.”

“Where’s he going?” John asked.

“Why’d you want to know?” Arthur growled, even as Hosea said, “Ain’t polite to ask. Every so often Arthur has to go away for a while. He’ll be back.”

“Doesn’t feel like…” John paused, face scrunching up as he tried to gather the words. “Doesn’t feel like he should be alone.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Twelve years old and already a know-it-all. You’re too young to say something like that to me, kid.” He got onto Boadicea’s back, nudging her into a trot. The onset of his Time was already buzzing under his skin, a restless clear-eyed violence that shortened the already short leash on his temper. When Arthur got like this, he welcomed the silence of the open road, the solitude. He always had. 

#

“Here.” Arthur shoved something soft into John’s face and kept walking. It was a deep green riding coat, cut above the knees. Smelled new. Wasn’t made of anything fine, but the lining was soft and the fabric was decent as far as John could tell. He pulled it on. It was too big for him yet, but he’d hit his growth spurt and was fast-outgrowing everything Hosea and Dutch could throw at him.

John jogged over to where Arthur was folding clothes into his trunk at his tent. “Thanks, Arthur.”

“Shopkeeper threw it in as a bonus.” Arthur didn’t even look up. “Doubt it fits.”

“I’ll grow into it. I like it. Really do.”

“Yeah, well.” Arthur closed his trunk and got to his feet. John didn’t often feel the weight of the ten years between them until they were this close. Arthur towered over him, and his tall, broad frame was packed with lean muscle. John couldn’t help but admire it. Especially when Arthur flicked him a brief smile. “Wasn’t fun when all my clothes were patched-up hand-me-downs.”

“I don’t mind,” John said. His clothes were a mismatched collection of old clothes from the gang, mostly Dutch’s. Arthur’s clothes were too big. As to Hosea’s, the scent on his clothes didn’t rub out no matter how much they were washed. It put John teeth on edge when pressed next to his skin, and he didn’t get why. Hell, he liked Hosea far more than he liked Dutch.

“You don’t have the brain for that,” Arthur said. He reached over to ruffle John’s hair and John ducked out of the way. Usually, Arthur would bull on, grab John in an arm-lock and do it anyway, laugh if John yelled or bit or kicked. They’d tussled in the dirt so often growing up that Dutch and Hosea didn’t even bother hollering at them to play nice no more.

Arthur dropped his hand, turning back to the barrel that served as his bedside table. He started to empty his pockets. Unsure if he was being dismissed or if he was meant to say anything, John backed off.

“Cute,” Abigail said, when John found her skiving off in the woods.

“Really?” Abigail had been watching a bird’s nest, tucked high in the trees. It was a large ball of sticks nestled among the branches, from which a black beak was barely visible. Crows.

“I meant you and Arthur,” Abigail said, “though I like crows fine too.”

“Smart birds,” John said, deliberately ignoring the first bit. Abigail was a newcomer to the gang, someone close enough to his age that they’d settled for each other’s company with relief.

“Nice coat.” Abigail plucked at John’s sleeve and smirked as he jerked it out of her grip. “I wish Arthur would buy me things.”

“If you asked him, he would.” Arthur was good like that, for all that he sometimes complained. He often took requests from people around the camp and didn’t ask for anything in return. Books, supplies, whatever was reasonable.

“Wish he’d buy me things without me _asking_.” Abigail pulled at John’s lapel and laughed as John stepped out of range. “You look real fine, John Marston.”

“Once I get let out on jobs instead of stuck on chores, I’ll buy you things,” John offered.

Abigail stuck her tongue at him. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why’d I want to get presents from a handsome man, compared to a scruffy kid who always looks like he lost a battle with a muddy shrub? I don’t wonder.”

“…Fine. I ain’t buying you shit,” John grumbled. He didn’t like being compared to Arthur. There was no way to win that kinda contest.

“Him being an omega helps too. Smells real good,” Abigail said. She grinned at John, who gave her a confused look in return.

“I guess?”

Abigail stared at John oddly. “Somedays you really are a dumbass, John Marston,” she said after a while.

“Now what’d I do?” 

#

John’s eyes were huge in the dying light from the campfire. “You’re sure. Real sure?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, John, I packed for the two of us and brought you all the way out here to the middle of nowhere while I’m coming into my Time, just to leave you hanging at the door. Yes, I’m fucking sure. Jackass.”

“I mean, I’m, hell. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

John’s nervousness leached away some of Arthur’s irritation. “That ain’t uncommon. D’you want to or not?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah.” John blushed as he ventured closer. At eighteen, John was almost as tall as Arthur. Still lean though, close to skinny. Maybe he’d never stop looking like a rangy colt, even under all the clothes Arthur that bought him that had finally fit. John started to calm down as Arthur pulled him into a kiss. It was familiar ground. Arthur’s desire for intimacy wasn’t entirely tied to sexual desire. He liked to kiss, liked the strangled sound John made as he pressed against Arthur and clutched at Arthur’s shoulders.

They stumbled through the door, John mouthing kisses eagerly over Arthur’s throat as Arthur fumbled it closed. John hesitated as Arthur reached over to wedge the chair under the door. “You expecting more company?” John asked. He gave the small cabin a quick, professional once-over. Checking out the boarded-up windows, the back door wedged closed with crates. The sleeping rolls that Arthur had already set up, out of the line of sight from the closest window. The tinned supplies stacked in a corner.

“I like to be prepared,” Arthur said.

“Feels to me like you’re prepared for a siege,” John said. He didn’t seem to notice Arthur tensing up, rubbing his cheek against Arthur’s shoulder. “Jesus, Arthur. Is it that bad out here?”

Arthur bristled. “You think I can’t handle it?”

John looked at him in surprise. “Sure you can. I meant. Ain’t everybody like you. What about the people out there who ain’t so handy with a gun and a knife?”

“Think you can guess,” Arthur said. He’d seen what happened sometimes to omegas who tried to hide out in the wild, who weren’t as prepared for a determined intruder.

“I don’t even. Those kinds of alphas. You’d have to get real close to even feel a thing so. Why the hell?”

“Lots of people get off on power. Feeling strong. That’s what assault is. Having power over someone else. People blaming the victim for not being prepared, or not wearing the right thing, or being in their Time—they don’t get it. It ain’t about biology or whatever. It’s always about power,” Arthur said. He’d understood that much, even as he learned how to wield the language of power for his own benefit.

John nodded. “I don’t remember much of the town I lived in when I was a kid, but. Ain’t like this in camp when somebody’s in their Time. I usually don’t even notice, unless it’s Sean.”

“Yeah? What about Sean?” Arthur knew it was the restlessness in him that was getting his blood up. Making him less rational. Usually, he hated it. With John… it wasn’t so bad.

“You’ve been around. He swears up a storm. Each time, I learn new words.”

“That he does.” Arthur tried to relax. He nosed in under John’s jaw, to the hollow of his throat. Breathed in the sweat and musk and growled as he felt John stiffen against his thigh. He groped John’s ass, kneading and chuckling as John moaned. “You bring supplies?” Arthur asked.

“Uh, yeah. Bought them over in Armadillo like you asked.” John fumbled a rolled up wad out of the pouch at his belt. He looked kinda doubtful. “The shopkeeper looked at me funny and. I don’t know if I got overcharged? How’s this thing a dollar each?”

“You don’t wanna know what it’s made of neither.” Arthur grabbed the condom from John. It felt dry to the touch, but it wasn’t as though he’d seen very many of this.

“He recommended some other stuff but. I wasn’t sure what was right and what ain’t.” John frowned to himself. “There was this thing that looked like a tiny tripod? I don’t even know where that’s meant to fit.”

“An IUC?” Arthur grimaced. “Dutch tried that once. Made him real sick… got infected. It’s the reason he can’t have kids.”

“Shit.” John shuddered. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get any of the tonics. Not that I had the money for it.”

“Yeah, at least you even got sold something. Last time I wanted to buy supplies from a general store, I had to pull a gun on the shopkeeper to get him to make the sale. That’s the last time I try to do business in a town with a big church.” Arthur pulled John to the sleeping roll, tugging off his jacket. Same coat that Arthur had bought for John years back. It’d been badly mended along one of the pockets and the sleeves and was fraying at the collar. “Get rid of this old thing,” Arthur said, as he tossed it aside. “Buy something out of your cut that doesn’t make you look like a grifter.”

“Well, I _am_ a grifter,” John said, grinning to hide his nervousness as he kissed Arthur on the mouth.

John wasn’t a great kisser, even with practice. He liked to linger and lick and there were often accidents with teeth, but he always kissed like he’d rather die than do anything else, and there was something addictive about devotion. To watching John flush and light up whenever Arthur even got within arm’s reach, to look into John’s eyes and know that John would do anything he wanted if he asked. It made Arthur feel a little guilty sometimes. He liked John fine. Was fond of him, sure. Arthur didn’t love John, though, not in the way John loved him. Life had conspired to make Arthur largely indifferent to romance. Sex, though, sex he liked real fine. With a partner he knew and trusted.

“You, uh, you done this before?” John asked as Arthur pulled him down to the sleeping roll and straddled him.

“Sure,” Arthur said, as he pulled off his shirt.

“During your Time?” John blinked.

“When else would I bother?”

“I kinda thought. Hosea kinda implied you just went off into a bolthole somewhere to uh, sleep it off,” John said.

“Sometimes I get a hankering for company.” Arthur pulled pointedly at John’s shirt. “Don’t make me do all the work. Strip.”

“A hankering? How often?” John pulled off his bandana slowly.

“You really wanna get into this now?” Arthur glowered at him. “I could change my mind, Marston. Don’t know what you think this is gonna be like, but I don’t ever need to be fucked so much that I’m willing to overlook being pissed off.”

“I just. Well. Was hoping this wouldn’t be a once off,” John said. He pulled unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes glued on the skin Arthur was showing.

Arthur laughed. “Hold up that thought. Let’s see how you go first.”

“No pressure,” John muttered, though he leaned up eagerly into a kiss as Arthur bent to take his mouth. They stripped off into messy piles of gear and clothes, John’s hands eager but clumsy as he swept roughened palms over Arthur’s back, to his ass, dipping tentatively between his legs. Arthur spat on his hand and slicked up his cock, then grabbed John’s hand and closed his fingers around it.

“Maybe you should stick to what you know for now,” Arthur said, giving John’s fingers a pointed squeeze. John nodded eagerly, fumbling at first, then pulling in tight tugs from root to tip when guided. Easing the condom down over John’s thickened cock, Arthur leaned in for a kiss, rocking into John’s grip. John whined, the heels of his feet scrabbling briefly on the floor. He was already panting. Arthur smiled wolfishly. This was gonna be good.

Arthur spread himself impatiently, growing wetter as he grew into his Time. Once he thought himself ready, John was well into his rut, his eyes wide and blown as Arthur grinned and smeared slick over his cheek, over his mouth. He licked after the taste, sucking eagerly on Arthur’s fingers, moaning and rocking against Arthur’s leg.

“Please,” John said, hushed. Arthur groaned. He’d never had anyone beg him before. Never had anyone look at him the way John did, like there was nobody else in the world but them. He kissed John as he sat himself down over John’s cock, arching in pleasure at the stretch, the tight fit that pulled easy only during this perfect moment between them. John whined and dug his fingertips into Arthur’s knees, his hips stuttering up as Arthur growled and ground down. Arthur pinned John down by his shoulders, smirking as John jerked against his grip with a hoarse moan. He could already feel John’s knot starting to swell up.

“I’m gonna let you off easy the first time,” Arthur said, his words punctuated by gasps as he rocked against John, “but after that, you’d better make this worth my while.”

“Whatever you want,” John promised.

#

“Not a word,” Arthur bit out as he got onto Boadicea’s back outside the clinic. John opened his mouth but shut his trap as he got a good look at Arthur’s murderous expression. The ride back to camp was made in silence. Arthur’s roiling stomach made the whole ride queasy enough, and he wasn’t sure if it was his… troubles… or the knowledge. He swung between fury and self-loathing and despair. Maybe Boadicea could sense it. Her stride grew impatient, picking up once she sensed that they were near the camp.

Hosea and Dutch were waiting for Arthur when they got back. Dutch took one look at his face and gestured for them to walk out of the camp to the trees. To Arthur’s irritation, John trailed behind them. The whole camp seemed to be watching them go. Arthur wasn’t surprised. News had probably spread. Wasn’t as though all the throwing up he did every morning was unnoticeable.

“How far along?” Dutch asked once they were out of earshot of the camp.

“‘Bout a month. Since the last Time,” Arthur said.

Dutch nodded slowly. Hosea glanced between Arthur and John. “The two of you didn’t uh. Use protection?”

“We always do. Just. Bad luck on the last go.” Arthur had to bite out each word. He’d swung back into fury, which was at least comfortable. “Fuck.”

Hosea started to say something, stopped himself, and looked at Dutch. Dutch shrugged, scratching his moustache. “It’s up to you, son. Hosea and I, we’ll support you either way. Do what you think is necessary.”

“I’m not keeping it,” Arthur said immediately.

John cleared his throat. He raised his hands up sharply as Arthur rounded on him with a snarl. “Hey, it’s up to you too,” he said hastily, “and I wanna help you if that’s what you want. Just. You know how my mother died, Arthur?”

That threw Arthur for a quick loop, sharp enough that he forgot his temper. “You never said.”

“She got… she got pregnant again. When I was ‘bout ten going on eleven. What with the family as it was, she didn’t think we could afford another kid. Couldn’t afford a doctor neither. So she tried to settle things herself.” John looked away. “Blood poisoning. Was what got her at the end.”

Arthur shuddered, even as Hosea looked up at the sky. Dutch coughed. “Yes, well. We got enough funds to avoid that, thank Christ. Finding a trustworthy doctor though, that’s another thing. What with the procedure being illegal.” He shook his head. “This world. Wasn’t all that long ago that abortion was just a fact of life out here on the frontier. Then us whites get concerned about the so-called coloured population threat and decide to force white people with a uterus to stay pregnant. Never mind that any such law forcing people to give birth’s just gonna affect poor and coloured people the most by driving the procedure underground. Rich people can still get to good doctors to get what they need. Every inch of cruelty in this world has to do with the hunger for power.”

“So we find a doctor,” Arthur said. He wasn’t much in the mood for one of Dutch’s speeches.

“We should. There’s also another way,” Hosea said.

Arthur bristled. “I ain’t having the kid.”

“Not that,” Hosea said soothingly. “As Dutch said, abortion was a fact of life out here before. Was even legal until fairly recently. The tribes handle it with herb mixtures, I hear. The way they have since long before the first foreign ship landed on these shores. I’ll hit up my contacts if you like.”

“Saint Denis will have doctors who can perform the procedure. Probably a matter of whether we can pay for drugs that won't end up killing you,” Dutch said.

“We’ll try it both ways,” Arthur said. He felt exhausted now that the rush of anger was gone. Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. I’m sorry. All this goddamned trouble.”

“What for? Things happen.” Hosea patted Arthur on the arm. “Now, you’re like a son to us both. Personally, I’d love to have a grandson. But it’s your life.”

“A grandson who’s wanted,” Dutch corrected. He clapped Hosea on the back and chivvied him toward the camp, leaving Arthur and John alone.

“Whatever help you need,” John said.

“Think it’s probably best you made yourself scarce for a while,” Arthur told him flatly. He leaned against the tree, fumbling for a cigarette. John milled around for a bit before slinking off, leaving Arthur to his cold comforts.

#

Hosea’s contact, Charles, led them up the mountain in graceful silence. The world dropped away around them as they climbed, higher and higher toward the peaks. Charles was dressed in a loose tunic under his coat, his hair worn long over his back, brushing his bow. An alpha. He’d exchanged very few words with Hosea and had opted not to speak once they began the ascent.

A solemn alpha with a wide-brimmed hat met them on a spine of rock before a deep valley. He had long grey hair, his gentle brown face seamed with age. “This is Chief Rains Fall,” Charles said as they got close. Hosea made as if to dismount and Rains Fall held up a hand, looking at Arthur.

“If I may,” Rains Fall said, “I’d like to speak with Mister Morgan for a while.”

Arthur tried not to tense up. He looked at Hosea, who stared calmly back at him. Rains Fall wasn’t visibly armed. Arthur nodded curtly and got off Ghost. “Perhaps later,” Hosea said brightly. He followed Charles back down the bath.

“Charles explained your situation to me,” Rains Fall said. He looked wryly amused. “We can’t work magic, Mister Morgan. I wish we could. Your people wouldn’t have come so close to exterminating us if we could.”

“Call me Arthur. I ain’t asking for magic,” Arthur said, “just a bit of help getting rid of a little trouble.”

“So I hear.” Rains Fall looked away over the mountains. “They’re still trying to kill us all. The army. Driving us into smaller and smaller reservations, away from our lands. Depriving us of medicines and the supplies we need.”

“You want help, is that it? What do you want?”

“No. Not the help that you can give me. There’s only pain down a road paved with violence. I’ve been down that path often enough to know.” Rains Fall gestured at the rocky path, littered with sparse herbs. “We’ve lost more than our lands. We’ve lost languages. Knowledge. I suppose someday we’ll fade to a point where we’d be more easily forgotten. Your people will remember us with indifference even as you grind us down. Wear poor copies of our culture as costumes, perhaps.”

“I didn’t do nothing to you,” Arthur said.

“Not personally, perhaps. But the system as it is now exists for your benefit. My point is. In our current state, the procedure you seek is not available on the reservation in any form. I presume it never will be, the more forgettable we are. We lack continued access to basic medical supplies, let alone what you’re asking for.”

“I see,” Arthur said, disappointed. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, Chief. And… hell. I know we’re strangers, and I can guess what you think about me. But if you ever do need the kinda help that I can give, get in touch with me through Hosea.”

Rains Fall looked at Arthur with mild curiosity. “Why?”

“The man who brought me up told me that we should help people who need helping, and shoot people who need shooting.”

“Ah. Dutch van der Linde. Charles described him to me as well. I hear he’s interested in joining your gang,” Rains Fall said. He looked neither disappointed or intrigued. “I think you’re not a good man, Mister Morgan. But you try to be.”

“Sometimes. Y’know, you could’ve told Charles to tell Hosea you couldn’t help me,” Arthur said. He should be annoyed, but somehow he wasn’t. He still had time. Besides, meeting Rains Fall was well worth the trip up so far. Something about the solemn Chieftain’s absolute dignity calmed Arthur down. Gave him the first real peace he’d had since the clinic. “But I’m glad you didn’t. I’m grateful you took the time to talk to me.”

“Even for a wasted trip?”

“I don’t think it’s wasted. You’ve given me things to think about.”

Rains Fall shot him a shrewd look. “I’m not very sure that I did. I actually called you here because I wanted to get my measure of you.”

“Before Charles signs up?”

“Charles can do what he likes. He’s a man grown. No. I wanted to know if you might be trustworthy. It’s a rare quality in these times.” Rains Fall gestured into the distance, past the jagged peaks. “There’s a temporary Army encampment to the west. Near the fort. Ask for Second Lieutenant Monroe and tell him that I sent you. He’s a doctor, and he’d be willing to help.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said, surprised. “If I can do something for you in return—”

“You can’t help us,” Rains Fall said, not unkindly. “Not just as you are.”

#

Nothing was going to return to normal afterwards. John should’ve known that. John had broken whatever it was that he’d had with Arthur and he wasn’t sure why, or even how to fix it. Arthur was morose and grim for months even after finding some military doctor who’d been willing to help. At first, John had just been relieved that things hadn’t worked out badly. That hadn’t lasted. Each time Arthur ignored him or just cut him dead before he could get much of a word in, it hurt a little bit more.

Arthur had been the main thing keeping John in the gang. Now John’s presence was hurting them both. The solution seemed obvious at the time, inevitable. Just as inevitable as John’s ultimate inability to stay away.

#

John propped himself up on the narrow bed and angled the shaving mirror at his ruined face. The scars weren’t as deep as he’d thought, though they were healing ugly, raked bright red over his nose and cheek. He’d survived the fever and infection but it’d been a near thing, according to Abigail. John didn’t remember much after being chased up the mountain by wolves. When he’d woken up, he was back in camp, being fussed over by the Reverend and Abigail. No sign of Arthur, who’d supposedly had a hand in saving him.

The door to the cabin creaked open, disgorging snow and burning cold. John started to pull the blankets over his shoulders and hesitated as Arthur stepped in, wrapped up tight against the chill, a scarf wound over his nose and mouth. Arthur eyed John with the same contempt that he’d worn when he’d recognised John riding up to the camp near Blackwater. Just like before, looking at it felt like being punched in the stomach. John flinched as Arthur tossed something soft in his face.

“Had a run-in with the O’Driscolls,” Arthur said, unwinding his scarf from his face. “They don’t need their supplies any longer.”

The thick scarf in John’s hands was well-made. Smelled a little, but then again, so did them all. Not much anyone could do about that in the thick of winter in the middle of the mountains. “Right,” John said.

Arthur grimaced. “Never gonna get used to your voice,” he said.

John nodded slowly. Before he’d left, his voice hadn’t yet settled into a typical alpha’s husky register. Something had gone wrong in John’s case, anyhow—something always did. Instead of breaking into a liquid growl, John’s had fractured into a hoarse kinda snarl. Didn’t sound pretty. He looked at his face again in the mirror. No part of him was pretty now. That felt about right.

“How’re you feeling?” Arthur asked.

John glanced up. “Surprised you care,” he said.

Arthur glowered at him. “Why the hell not? We’re shorthanded. You’re dead weight now, Marston. Sooner you can get your skinny ass outta bed and back in saddle, the better.”

“Abigail said you came to get me,” John said. He set the mirror down. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Thank her. She harangued Dutch into sending me an’ Javier up the mountains. Nearly froze our balls off looking for you. Not to mention wolves chasing us all the way back. They find something about you real tasty for some reason.”

“Used to be that you could relate,” John said without thinking.

Arthur went dangerously still. His hard eyes glittered with something worse than contempt. John had seen Arthur wear this kind of black anger before, seen it push him into a killing drive that’d give him the uncanny strength to lay waste to anything in his path. Before John could fumble up an apology, Arthur said coldly, “That was a long time ago.”

A year and a bit wasn’t a long time. John bit down on his tongue in case he volunteered the opinion and got his throat cut for his trouble. “I’m sorry,” John said instead. When Arthur said nothing, the same black temper stirred in John, the bastard rage that he’d learnt on the streets as a kid, that Hosea and Dutch had cultivated. In John, in Arthur, Javier—all the strays they’d picked up and groomed into killers. “What’d you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” Arthur said. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ain’t nothing to say.”

“I was a dumb kid back then, all right?”

“That why you ran away?”

“I—” John swallowed the words up short. He didn’t regret running, or the year he’d spent away from Dutch. From Arthur. It’d been the smartest thing he’d ever done. Extricating himself from Dutch’s bullshit and learning to see the world as it was, not as Dutch saw it.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Arthur said. He took a step to the door and turned back around. “Why’d you come back?”

“Guess I missed everyone.” That was true, if not the whole truth. He’d missed Abigail, sure. Missed Hosea, missed Javier and Mrs Grimshaw. Mary-Beth. None of them had been worth coming back for. It’d been Arthur. Arthur’s scent was sharper in the cold, stronger because of their current living conditions. John didn’t mind it. Arthur was the one thing that had made coming back inevitable.

Arthur set his jaw, winding his scarf back around his face. “You said you were sorry? Hell. I’m sorry too.” The contempt was back. “Guess we still have that in common.” 

#

“Thought I’d never be warm again,” John told Abigail as he helped her set up her tent in the new campground near Valentine. Laundry had been strung out to dry near the river, where Tilly and Mary-Beth were patiently washing out clothes. John had scrubbed down upstream, cold as the water was. He’d gotten tired of his stink.

“How’s your.” Abigail gestured at John’s face.

“Itches, mostly.” John had reconciled himself to the damage. Wasn’t too bad. He carried Abigail’s chest of personal effects down from the wagon with a grunt and set it up by the foot of her cot. She sat down and patted the bed beside her.

“Sit,” Abigail said.

John obeyed. “Haven’t said it yet, but. Thanks? For telling Dutch to get me.”

Abigail sniffed. “Yeah, well. For an omega as old and as unconventional as he is, Dutch sure still tends to assume that alphas can take care of themselves. Even when he pretty much raised you.”

“He ain’t much wrong. If _you’d_ been out in the snow you’d have been fine,” John said. He wasn’t entirely joking neither. Abigail had a survivor’s luck.

“Flatterer.” Abigail nudged John in the ribs. Across the camp, Arthur glanced at them and looked away quickly when he noticed John watching. He was setting up his own tent in the far corner, as far away from John as he could. John turned away, pretending to watch Pearson set up a makeshift butcher’s table. Abigail noticed. “You and Arthur—”

“There hasn’t been a ‘me and Arthur’ for a while.”

That’d come out sharper than John intended. Abigail patted John’s arm. “Wouldn’t know about that.”

“Wanna bet? He obviously hates me now.” In response, Abigail poked John’s new scarf. “My old one was ruined,” John reminded her, “what with me bleeding all over it.”

“Sure, John.” Abigail lay down on the cot, stretching out her arms. “Y’know. In the beginning, I kinda hated you a bit for leaving too. You’re my best friend here.”

“I asked you to come with me.”

Abigail shook her head. “We were what, eighteen going on nineteen? How’d we live? Ain’t no rancher or town gonna put up with two alphas blowing in out of nowhere. I don’t even know how you did it. Stay out by yourself for a whole year.”

“Bounties, mostly. Odd jobs.” He’d worked some, hunted some. It hadn’t been a bad life, and if not for Arthur John might have been content. “Glad you got over being pissed at me.”

“I understood why you went.” Abigail looked over to Dutch’s tent, where Dutch was talking to Hosea, their heads bent together. They looked to all the world like a mated couple, but everyone in the gang knew better. Under his red scarf, Dutch’s throat was unmarked. This was Dutch’s gang, not Hosea’s. “He scares me sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Dutch scared John most of the time. He had for a while. Dutch drew people to him, good and bad alike. John didn’t care about what might happen to people like Bill, but he was scared about what being around Dutch might someday do to the rest. To Arthur.

Abigail smacked John on the flank, hard enough that it stung. “You know what I mean,” she said. Across the camp, Arthur was walking briskly to the horses. He saddled his new, unnamed brown horse, and rode out of camp without a word. Arthur would take a look around town, then he’d hunt them up some dinner. John knew that without even having to think it over. Even with all the time and grief between them, John could still instinctively read Arthur like a book.

“I came back for Arthur,” John murmured.

Abigail sniffed. “I could _not_ have guessed. Amazing. Incredible. I’m totally shocked.”

John swatted her arm. “Asshole.”

“Look. He’ll… The thing that happened between you both. It was an accident. Maybe y’all should’ve been more careful, but it happened,” Abigail said. She studied John carefully. “Or. Arthur regretted it? Getting rid of the pregnancy?”

“No. Not at all.” Neither of them were well-suited to be parents, and Arthur hadn’t wanted to have a kid. Even if they’d had stable and peaceful lives. “Arthur said he don’t have a maternal bone in his body. Still hit him hard. The process. Everything after.”

“What about you?”

“Didn’t matter. I don’t own Arthur. I don’t see why anybody’s got to have the power to do a thing like that. Force someone else to bring a kid into the world, a kid that nobody’s gonna want. People who’d ruin the lives of others so they can feel good about themselves? I don’t get people like that.” Both Arthur and John knew what it was like to be an unwanted kid. Much as John appreciated being around, he’d wished his mother had more options. She would’ve still been alive if she had.

“You tried talking to Arthur again? Recently?” Abigail asked.

“Was hoping he’d maybe cool off first.” John didn’t much mind giving Arthur a large berth. It wasn’t as though it was new. This was a reversion to the way they’d been before, when John was younger and more ignorant, when he’d pissed Arthur off all the time. Matters between them had merely regressed to the beginning, and it was just as much John’s fault as Arthur’s. 

#

Arthur’s system for riding out his Time was set in stone now that he was older. He liked to scout out places ahead of time. Safe places that Arthur told no one about, that had one point of entry that he could block if he had to. Arthur’s Time never did take him as strongly as penny dreadfuls implied. Hell, nobody’s did, and it all took them in different ways. Dutch’s Time just made him snappish and surly. Javier’s put him in a real good mood, where everything could make him laugh. Mary-Beth got real friendly, Sean tended to get pissy. Arthur—Arthur just wanted to be alone.

He roasted the jackrabbit he’d shot earlier, seasoning it with just a bit of salt. With the restlessness under his skin, anything too rich tended to upset his stomach. Arthur was sitting outside an abandoned old railway station, Ghost cropping grass not far from the ridge. The white Arabian he’d broken glanced over when Arthur took the jackrabbit off the fire. “Hey girl,” Arthur said. Ghost snorted and turned her attention back to the grass. Arthur ate in silence, watching the road.

As night crept over the backbone of the world, Arthur retreated into the railway station. He set up his bedroll and set the pump-action shotgun next to it within reach, his pistol under his pillow and his knife to his left. He’d never needed to use them, but they made him feel better about the buzz under his skin as he closed the door and wedged a chair under it. He sat on a crate and thumbed through his sketchbook in the light of the hooded lantern. There wasn’t much in it. Not since John had come back out of fucking nowhere.

The mood came upon him in a prickly tide, something in him changing gears. Arthur set the journal aside and lay on the bedroll, unbuttoning his trousers and pushing them and his drawers down to his knees. He didn’t much like this part. Being indifferent to sexual impulses most of the year was great. Efficient. Arthur couldn’t imagine what it’d be like if people were in season all the time. Nothing would get done. Everyone would still be living in the Dark Ages.

Arthur took in a slow breath and reached between his legs, stroking his fingers through the growing slick. He let out a low hiss of pleasure as he stroked himself, his folds, his balls, pulling his hand into a slow fist over his cock. Arthur breathed in gunpowder and gun oil, sweat and leather. It’d taken him time to readjust to being alone after John had left.

Goddamned _John_.

It’d taken time for Arthur to stop feeling guilty over taking pleasure in his own body. Arthur had spent the first couple of Times he’d gone through after the abortion curled up drunk enough to sleep. He’d ridden back to camp after the second, hung over and tired, to find John missing. Arthur wasn’t surprised about that. He’d been picking fights with John for weeks beforehand, and it’d obviously taken a lot out of John to just roll with the blows and say nothing. Arthur had merely been surprised that John leaving hurt as much as it had.

As he eased a finger into himself, Arthur went still as he heard the sound of someone approaching the abandoned station on a horse. He bit down on a curse, pressing his free hand over his shotgun and waiting. When whoever it was stopped, Arthur rolled his eyes and quietly did his pants back up. He got as silently as he could into a crouch, holstering his pistol and picking up the shotgun.

“Hello the station,” called a stranger. They whistled. “Fine horse you got there. A beauty.”

Fucking great. It was some nosy asshole. Arthur edged over to the window. “Thanks,” he said, careful to stay out of sight.

“Mind if I kip down here for the night? I’ll share supplies.”

Arthur sniffed the air. Now that he was fully into his Time, he could sense the stranger as a palpable weight in the world. An alpha. His grip tightened on the shotgun. “I do so mind, and I’ll trouble you to head on your way,” he said.

“Now that ain’t very friendly of you, mister.” Whoever it was came closer, then stopped. “Oh. You’re. Pardon me.” The alpha backed off, getting back on their horse. “Have uh, have a good night.”

“Same to you,” Arthur said. He listened as the stranger rode off. Only after he couldn’t hear the alpha any longer did he settle back onto the sleeping roll.

The train station was a bad idea after all, comfortable as it was. Too much traffic. Most strangers he’d met who figured out why he was holed up left him alone. Alphas had to get into stabbing distance to go into a rut, and they’d know that trying to dig an ornery omega in their Time out of a den would end up with someone getting shot. Even so, there’d always be the occasional jackass who’d try their luck. Arthur spent the rest of the night sleeping lightly, listening to the road with his hand on the shotgun.

#

John flinched when Arthur rode right up to him. He’d been taking up the rear on the wagon train as they made their way out of Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point, while Arthur had been ranging up the front with Dutch and Hosea. “Yeah?” John asked warily.

Arthur reached over. John braced for a blow, but Arthur plopped a black fedora on his head. “Lost your hat in Valentine,” Arthur said.

“Yeah well, what with Cornwall’s men holding a gun to my head and all that, recovering it wasn’t a big priority,” John said. The new hat fit just right. He tipped it at Arthur. “Thanks.”

“For the hat, or for saving your ass?” Arthur looked amused.

“Both. Good shooting.”

“Expected anything less?”

John eyed Arthur warily. “Someone’s in a good mood.” Arthur hadn’t said a kind word to John in days, not since John fucked up on the sheep hustling job.

“A random stranger just gave me a gold bar. ‘Course I’m in a good mood,” Arthur said.

“Gave? Just like that?”

“S’pose Charles and I did help them out of a pinch.” Arthur looked reflective. “Was more Charles than me."

“And you got the gold.”

“And the credit. Come to think of it, I should've said something about their ingrained racism or whatever it was… ah, hell. Here you go, ruining my mood,” Arthur said, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Sorry,” John said. Arthur merely scowled and said nothing. “Thanks for the hat.”

“You already said that,” Arthur said, instead of taking the offered out and riding off.

“I’ll pay you back?” John hazarded. He wasn’t sure what Arthur wanted. There was a loud sniff from Tilly, who was driving the wagon in front of them.

Arthur glanced over at the wagon and back. “Don’t worry about it. Ain’t like you’re any good at making money. I seen your contributions.”

John should’ve known. “That what you want to talk to me about?” Things felt so brittle between them now. Dangerous. John had no idea how to fix it. He’d had no idea before he’d run away, and no idea still. He wasn’t smart, he’d admit that. He concentrated on not being frustrated.

“No, jackass. I just wanted to give you a goddamned hat.” Arthur nudged his knees into Ghost and cantered back up the wagon line.

Once he was out of sight, Tilly said, “Sweet Jesus, John. I see what Abigail meant. You sure are hopeless.”

“Hopeless at what?” John asked, bewildered.

“Christ, don’t even bother. Just shut up and look pretty. Abigail and I are gonna need to have a word,” Tilly said.

#

Whatever Tilly and Abigail planned, it didn’t work. John didn’t much mind. This ceasefire with Arthur was what he wanted. Right up until Dutch and his goddamned plans finally went completely off the rails, ending with Hosea dead and John arrested. Being sentenced to hard labour ending with a hanging was just about right. A hard end to a hard life.

Getting rescued was a bit of a surprise, but John couldn’t even be pleased about it. It was good to see that Arthur was alive, but. “You’re not well,” John said on the ride back to the new camp.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He started to speak and turned away sharply, coughing in terrible tearing bursts. “Yeah, I fucking noticed, Marston.”

“That cough. You seen a doctor?” John asked. Sadie glanced at them both and nudged her horse further up the road.

“Lot of help that was,” Arthur said. The handsome leonine man John knew was crumbling in on himself. Arthur wore ghoulish circles under his eyes and he was deathly pale. “Said there was nothing they could do.”

“Arthur,” John whispered. His eyes stung with sudden grief, and he had to look away at the trees, swallowing hard.

“Hey. Don’t get like that on me. Shit happens. Always has.” Arthur slowed Ghost down to a trot and John followed suit. Sadie glanced back over her shoulder but at some signal from Arthur, she kept on ahead until she disappeared down the forest path. “Things are complicated now,” Arthur said.

“When have they ever been simple?”

Arthur turned away, coughing into his arm. “Fuck. Just listen. Dutch… Dutch didn’t handle Hosea’s death very well.”

“If you’re gonna say that it’s changed him, I’m gonna call bullshit on that,” John said evenly. “Dutch has been the way he is for a long time. It was just easier to keep up appearances when the going was good. After Blackwater, things fractured. We just got to see more of the real Dutch.”

Arthur shot John a tired look. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Shut up. The bad decisions, they’re gonna be worse. The people he brought into the gang. The… never mind. All I’m trying to say is. There may come a time when you could leave. I want you to make sure that Tilly, Mary-Beth, Sadie, Abigail, hell, Pearson and Kate and the Reverend, you know the people I’m talking about. I want you to make sure that they make it.”

“They can take care of themselves,” John said.

Arthur scowled at him. “You know what I mean.”

“They’d tell you this to your fucking face,” John shot back. “They ain’t clear-eyed sheep following wolves to a slaughter. Everyone you named knows how to use a gun, knows when to cut and run. They’re all survivors. Don’t make them out to be babies when they ain’t. So don’t worry about us, Arthur. Worry about yourself.”

“It’s too late for me,” Arthur said. He was reconciled to that. “There’s a lot of things in life that I’ve done that I regret. Ain’t much I can do now about that. Just. I don’t regret you. Not any of it, not anymore. I want you to know that.”

John stared at Arthur for a long moment. His hands twisted in his saddle as he looked at the road. “Don’t talk like you’re already dead. You ain’t gonna die.”

“Everyone dies. It’s the manner of their dying that matters. When I go, I want to know that the people I left behind who I cared about got to live another day. That’s all I want.”

“Okay, Arthur,” John said. His voice cracked. “Okay.”

#

“Guess this is where we split up,” Sadie said once they cleared Annesburg. “John.”

John flinched. He looked over at her, at Tilly and Abigail on the wagon, at everyone he hadn’t managed to bring with him. “Yeah. Yeah, we should split up. Arthur—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “Arthur gave me his money. I’ll split it between the four of us. There’s quite a lot of it.”

“We’ll manage,” Abigail said kindly.

“You ain’t think about going back, are you?” Tilly demanded, still the shrewdest of the lot. Sadie swung a hard stare over at John.

“No,” John lied. He didn’t fool anyone.

“Fuck’s sake,” Sadie said flatly. “Arthur’s dead, John. You saw the number of people the Pinkertons brought. You saw how he was. Barely up on his feet last we saw. He’s dead.”

“Sadie,” Abigail said.

“If you go back up there, you’re gonna die. And for what? Did Arthur want that?” Sadie told John. “Arthur cared about the rest of us. About you. What did he want?”

“He wanted me to make sure the rest of you got out,” John said. He gestured at the wagon. “Job’s done.”

“Between us and the whole state crawling with people looking for us, sure,” Tilly said. She hugged herself, red-eyed. “Poor Arthur.”

“We should go north. All of us. Canada, maybe. Until the heat dies down. Then we should maybe look for the others.” Abigail looked at John with an uncomfortable degree of pity. “Can’t you come with us until then? It’s what Ar—”

“Don’t,” John cut in, defeated. “Just don’t.”

#

John tried to stay with Abigail and Tilly for a while, he truly did. The glue that had bound him to the gang was gone, and trying to make up for it with stopgap measures just made things worse. He stayed long enough to see them set up in Boston and took himself back south. Sadie came with him.

“Y’know,” Sadie said as they rode into Blackwater, “what with the way y’all were talking up this place like setting foot in it was gonna make us wither and die, I’m kinda disappointed.”

A couple of years back, John would’ve laughed. Now he merely grunted. “We had reasons. Thanks to Dutch.” It was a surprise to see that nobody in town gave them a second glance. John had tried riding close to Blackwater once when the gang had fled south from Valentine. He’d been ranging out looking for opportunities. It hadn’t been one of his better ideas.

“You think he’s dead?” Sadie asked.

“Nah. It’d have been in the papers if he was.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. Arthur’s death wasn’t in the papers,” Sadie said.

Hearing Arthur’s name still hurt, but it was a dull throb. “He wasn’t gonna be as big of a trophy for the Pinks.”

“He was—” Sadie whistled. “Holy mother of God. Speak of the devil.”

“What?” John looked around sharply, his hand dropping to a holstered gun, expecting to catch Dutch rounding the corner. His jaw dropped. It was _Arthur_. Arthur, coming out of the saloon, freshly shaven and clad in a fine black shotgun coat and a hat with a snakeskin band, heading for a warhorse whose coat shone like molten gold.

John rubbed his eyes. Nope. He wasn’t dreaming.

Sadie reacted first. She rode right up to Arthur, who looked up once she got close. He grinned broadly, a grin that widened as he looked past her to John. “Sadie,” Arthur said, then, more softly, “John.”

“What the utter flying fuck, Arthur,” Sadie said. She made as if to dismount and stopped as Arthur unhitched his horse and got into saddle. He motioned for them to head out of town. As they rode, John kept sneaking glances at Arthur, frozen to silence by wonder. Arthur looked great. The colour had returned to his face. Better yet, so had the same easy calm that had first drawn John to Arthur when he had been a boy, years and years ago.

“How the hell?” John said once they’d left Blackwater behind.

“Charles dug me out of the mountain and dropped me with a friend who had a cabin nearby,” Arthur said.

“Like that explains fucking anything,” Sadie said. She made a gesture at Arthur’s face. “I thought you were terminally ill.”

“Thought so too,” Arthur said. He didn’t sound inclined to elaborate much. “Don’t know how I got better. Took a while.”

“You could’ve come looking for us,” John said, trying not to sound accusing. “Abigail and I left messages at the usual places.”

“I saw.” Arthur shot them both an even stare. “I needed the quiet for a while. To sort myself out.”

John bit down the first retort on his tongue. “And now?”

“Guess I’m still working things out,” Arthur said.

Sadie sniffed. “Well, I’ll leave y’all to it then.”

“Where’re you going?” John asked her.

“To check the bounties posted in Blackwater. It’s been fun, John. Arthur, good to see you ain’t dead.”

“That’s it?” John said. He’d been riding with Sadie for a while, and she still surprised him.

“I ain’t the sentimental sort,” Sadie said, which was an understatement. She waved, turned her horse around, and rode back towards town.

Arthur let out a short laugh. “Hell, I missed her.”

“Only her?” John nudged his horse up to draw level next to Arthur.

Arthur eyed him, inscrutable for a long moment, then he smirked. “Yeah, just her. Who the hell else?”

It’d been too long since Arthur had made a joke at John’s expense that was this playful. John laughed, a laugh fuelled with relief. “I don’t know, Arthur. Maybe the poor bastard you sweet-talked into working on your ‘last’ wishes.”

“That guy was probably a jackass,” Arthur said, unrepentant. He looked John critically over. “I’ve got business over at Rhodes, then we should ride to Saint Denis.”

“That’s gonna be quite a ride. What’s in Saint Denis?”

Arthur took in a slow breath, as though he was trying to work out the right words to say. “You look like you lost a fight with the reject section of a clothes store. Lemme get you something less embarrassing. Something worthy of a new start.”

A knot of pressure felt like it was untwisting within John, finally coming free. “Sure, Arthur. Whatever you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, in this ‘verse everyone is asexual until they either go into heat (omegas) or go into rut (alphas being near an omega in heat).
> 
> Refs:  
https://edition.cnn.com/2016/06/23/health/abortion-history-in-united-states/index.html  
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10297561  
https://www.newyorker.com/news/essay/how-abortion-changed-the-arc-of-womens-lives  
https://artsci.case.edu/dittrick/online-exhibits/history-of-birth-control/contraception-in-america-1800-1900/19th-century-artifacts/  
https://mashable.com/2015/06/07/early-birth-control/  
https://www.theatlantic.com/notes/2016/02/abortion-among-native-americans/460029/
> 
> twitter: @manic_intent  
my writing and other policies: manic-intent.tumblr.com


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